Days Like These
by SChimes
Summary: Sharon and Rusty are going through a rough patch in the aftermath of a bad decision he's made, and Jack Raydor's sudden return just adds to the tension. When things escalate to unforeseen consequences, Rusty and Sharon might end up growing closer as she decides to share more of her story with him.
1. Chapter 1

**So I was never going to post two ongoing multi-chapters at once, but then Rosabelle and I seem to be in this wonderful pattern of mutual terrible influence-ing ;) so due to her dedicated enabling of my lack of self control, this story is seeing the light of day about five months before it really should! **

**Note: This is going to be primarily a story of Sharon's background, starting with when she met Jack and working its way up to many years later when she finally found her footing and mostly-figured-out her life. It's framed as a series of flashbacks, with bits of present-day incorporated as a backdrop for all the present-day bits will explain the reason why Sharon is telling Rusty (parts of) her story in the first place. **

_Prologue_

The phone dialed, each monotonous ring echoing loudly in her ear. After the third one, she realized she was holding her breath.

After the fifth one she began to change her mind. This was a mistake. Nothing was going to come of it. Things were…fine, as they were. Why stir up the waters for everyone?

Her fingers gripped the phone tight enough to cut off circulation.

She was within a hair's breath of hanging up when there was a telltale click on the other end. If it had been the voicemail, she'd have ended the call without a message and been grateful to her core. But it wasn't.

"_Hello_." The tone was part-greeting, part-expectant, part-amused. None of those things she was capable of feeling at the moment.

"_Hellooo…_" A few seconds had passed, and she couldn't find words.

Sharon swallowed dryly.

"_Dear, when you use our highly exclusive work-hours phone call policy, and then don't say anything, I get very bad thoughts. Just so you know, I'm about thirty seconds from calling in the Special Forces." _

She let out a soft breath.

"…Did you ever clean out that bottom drawer of your desk…?"

Her own voice was unrecognizable, hollow to her ears.

There was a silence on the other end, then…

"_I'll be there in twenty minutes. Where are you, work?_"

Her throat became, if possible, even drier.

"Yes. No." She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. "I – I'll meet you… at… Teresa's."

"_Excellent. I'll try to make it over before you can change your mind._"

Oh, God.

She paused in her tracks and nearly turned back three times on the walk over. This was a terrible, terrible idea. But she was also very, very angry and so she let that anger carry her, drowning out a chorus of concerns and doubts.

Fifteen minutes later, outside the door to a small Italian coffee shop, Gavin Q. Baker III marched up to her, and Sharon's gaze immediately zeroed in on the worn, dog-eared folder in his hands, which looked exactly as though it had been resting at the bottom of a drawer for the better part of two decades.

* * *

_Days Like These, pt. 1_

Rusty stood up straighter on the sofa when she walked through the door.

"Sharon, you're home." He sounded relieved, and she felt her lips curl into a slight smile with a minimum amount of effort.

"Of course I'm home. Didn't you get my text?" She'd let him know, earlier, that she'd be a little late. But it was still just past six, well in time for dinner…

"No, I did, it's just that uhm…" He was standing now, watching her alertly as she took off her shoes. "I didn't know if… I mean, like, if you wanted to…" He swallowed. "Sharon, are you…okay…?"

She looked up from pulling on her Uggs, one hand against the wall for balance. "Of course," she said again.

But he wasn't ready to drop it. "It's just that... when you left the station earlier you looked uh… upset, and… is … everything… okay?" The wary look he gave her made her smile again.

"Don't worry about me, Rusty. I'm fine. I'm not upset," she assured him, and it was almost the truth.

He joined her at the kitchen counter when she went to pour herself a glass of water.

"Listen, about today…"

"Hm…?"

"Sharon… I don't… look, I don't care what Jack says, okay? I'm not like, angry or anything."

This time, she let the serene expression slip a little, tilting her head to give him that soft look of hers. "Good," she said seriously, "because Jack has no idea what he's talking about, and it was neither his place nor his right to talk at all. And frankly, nothing he said has anything to do with you, anyway," she added. "So I'd hate for your feelings to get hurt over any of it."

Rusty swallowed hard. "Yeah. I mean, they're not. I don't…" He looked down at the counter, scratching at an imaginary spot, until from the corner of his eye he noticed Sharon stepping closer.

"Rusty, if you want to talk about what Jack said…"

The way he looked up, almost desperately, made her heart break a little.

"It's…" Sharon shook her head, hands curling around the cool water glass. "He was completely out of line. And wrong," she added when the boy failed to look reassured, "he was wrong. Rusty…" she shook her head again, the anger rearing in her chest once more. "Jack is very good at pushing buttons, and he's _particularly_ good at pushing _my_ buttons, and that's all he was trying to do today. You just got caught in the crossfire, and I am _tremendously_ sorry about that."

"No. I mean it's fine… you don't have to…" He suddenly gave her a pleading look. "Sharon, it's not _like_ what Jack said, you know that right?" But he didn't even allow her time to reply. "That's not why… I swear, it wasn't like that, Sharon. _I'm_ not like that, I'm –"

"Honey, I know." Her eyes closed painfully for a second. "I know. Don't – just don't give it another thought. Jack says a lot of things," she sighed, "and over the years I've learned it's best to ignore most of them."

"It's just that…"

Rusty trailed off, but he didn't have to finish, she understood perfectly. It's just that Jack was so good at saying precisely those things that were hardest to ignore.

"I know," Sharon acknowledged. After a moment she met his eyes again, the anxiety she saw reflected in them making her twice as determined. "Rusty, I mean it," she said softly. "Don't give any of that a second thought. Whatever Jack said doesn't mean anything to me, and it certainly shouldn't mean anything to you."

The boy nodded, but it was so half-hearted that it didn't reassure her at all, and then he was still giving her this tormented look and ... oh, she'd been _so angry_ with him, so hurt and lost as to how to handle things. So how come all of a sudden she no longer found it difficult at all to reach across the space between them?

Maybe she did owe Jack some gratitude after all.

"Come here," she murmured, and with one step around the counter she came to stand right by Rusty's chair, and she pulled him close as his arms reached to circle her body. His head pressed against her shoulder and he said something into her hair, the words too muffled to make out. She thought she caught the gist of it, though.

"Honey, it's going be okay," she promised. "_We're_ going to be just fine…"

* * *

He pulled back after a moment, his expression uncertain and so, so young. "Are you still mad at me?"

Sharon smiled a little. "Not nearly as mad as I am at Jack." She winced almost as soon as the words were out, because _wow_ was that the wrong thing to say, considering. "Rusty," she hurried to add, "those two are not the same thing at all. I'm mad at you, yes, because what you did was … " There were no words.

"Stupid," he provided, "yeah, I know, trust me."

"It was," she agreed. "And thoughtless. Dangerous. You could've…"

But she stopped, because they'd already had this discussion before, and rehashing it for the tenth time wasn't going to do any good. Not now, when she'd finally found the ability to talk to him about it without fighting the urge to shout or burst into tears.

"But Rusty… that's one thing, and... everything that Jack said is another, and _that_'s what I don't want you to worry about. Okay?" She squeezed his shoulders lightly, and he nodded a little more convincingly this time. "Good."

They took another step back from each other, Sharon retrieving her water glass and taking another sip.

"I really don't care, you know," Rusty told her after a few seconds. "About what he said. I just didn't want you to think –"

"I don't."

He dropped his gaze. But the residual wariness seemed to be gone, even as he fidgeted a little awkwardly.

"Okay…uh, good."

Sharon gave him another warm look, carrying her glass to the sink. "What would you like for dinner?"

"Pizza…?" he said hopefully, and she huffed in amusement.

"As long as you're willing to actually make it, in this kitchen, I don't have a problem with that." His grimace elicited another light chuckle. "We may have some pre-made dough in the freezer," she relented.

Rusty grinned, and went to open the fridge door.

Pulling out the two packages of frozen pizza dough he could find, he weighed them with an undecided look. One seemed too little. Both seemed too much. He was hungry, sure, but Sharon would probably have a slice or two at most and two whole pizzas was a lot for just them… "Is Jack gonna…"

He trailed off his question as soon as his brain caught up with his mouth, but not soon enough.

Sharon glanced over her shoulder.

"Never mind," he backpedaled.

After a short hesitation, she placed the now-clean glass on the dish rack, and turned to face him again.

"Rusty…" She bit her lips, then joined her hands and met his eyes with a serious gaze. "The reason I was a little late tonight was because I went to meet a friend." When he started to open his mouth, she held up a hand to signal that she wasn't finished. "A friend who also happens to be an attorney. You've met him once or twice – Gavin."

Rusty still looked confused.

Sharon let out a long breath. "I asked Gavin to help me file for a divorce."

* * *

**The first few chapters mostly deal with present-day stuff – originally, it was going to be one chapter of set-up and then all background flashbacks, but you can't hand me not one, but _two _Sharon-angst plot points and expect them to not run away from me. So now we're getting a liiittle more detail on Jack's latest drive-by, and what he said, and what Rusty did that had him and Sharon in uncertain waters, and how the stars aligned until Sharon finally picked up that phone at the beginning of this story ;). **

**You know I love hearing from you, so if you have thoughts on Sharon's divorce, or her life with Jack many years ago, or anything, please feel free to throw them at me! (Don't be concerned if I burst into spontaneous ranting on the topic of how Jackson Raydor should spend each episode being chased and repeatedly clobbered over the head with a lamp.)**

**Thank you for reading. **


	2. Chapter 2

**In this chapter, we establish a timeline of sorts for the present-day action. It's basically mid-to-late October of last year, so, after the letters were revealed but before they caught Stabby.  
**

**Thanks to everyone who read & reviewed the last chapter!**

* * *

_**Previously...**_

_"The reason I was a little late tonight was because I went to meet a friend." When he started to open his mouth, she held up a hand to signal that she wasn't finished. "A friend who also happens to be an attorney. You've met him once or twice – Gavin." _

_Rusty still looked confused. _

_Sharon let out a long breath. "I asked Gavin to help me file for a divorce."_

_Days Like These, pt. 2_

For a moment, the boy stared at her uncomprehendingly. Then confusion melted into horror, and his eyes widened. "What? No!" He looked panicked. "Sharon, you can't do that!"

Silence fell between them.

Her eyebrows rising a fraction, Sharon smiled a little unsurely. "To tell you the truth, Rusty, that's not exactly a reaction I was prepared for…"

But he wasn't done reacting. "No, just… look, I don't care what Jack said, okay? It's fine! I swear," the boy's voice rose in pitch as he continued to look horrified, "I – I – Call your lawyer back! _Oh my god_ …" He passed his hands through his hair, then reached for her almost desperately. "Okay... okay, it's not too late, right? Sharon, you can still call him off, right?"

"Uhm."

Sharon cleared her throat, tried again.

"I…" She swallowed. "Rusty, I'm not sure I understand why you're so upset," she admitted finally.

"I'm not upset! You're the one who's upset!"

There was another momentary pause, during which she processed through her confusion with a couple of slow blinks, while Rusty paced a frantic circle by the living room table.

"Alright…why don't we sit down and discuss this," suggested Sharon, and when he seemed disinclined to heed her the first time, she repeated, "stop shaking your head and come sit down, please." She went to her usual corner of the sofa and waited until he'd settled next to her, still giving her a look so young and wary that she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"Rusty… I understand that my divorcing Jack might come with a few difficulties for you, but I assure you that…" She trailed off as the boy lowered his face into his hands and groaned; letting her head fall to her chest, Sharon sighed, "What."

"This isn't difficult for _me_, Sharon. How are you not _getting_ this?"

She tilted her head. "So you're this upset because you're… worried about me?"

"No!" A beat, then: "Well – I mean yes, but … no. Look, I'm sure you can like… deal with your… stuff."

"I appreciate the vote of confidence," she said dryly, causing Rusty to groan again.

"I don't mean it like that, Sharon." He sighed. "It's just… you were _fine_, with the way things were with you and Jack, and now…"

"Now, I'm still fine," she assured. "I just… made a decision, that's all."

"But… what if it's the wrong decision?"

She threw him a sideways look, because sure, having _more_ doubts injected into this was exactly what she needed, thank you.

"I just think you should… wait," Rusty suggested, with a couple of convinced nods.

Sharon bit her lips.

"Wait for what?"

He shifted in his spot then, tensing his shoulders and looking down at the rug. "Wait… until…you're not mad at me anymore…?"

And the worst thing was, he meant it, too; she let out a slow breath. "Rusty. If nothing else, I assure you that I'm not filing for divorce because I'm mad at you."

"No, I mean I know you don't _think_ so, but…" He only fidgeted again at her look. "It's just… Sharon, it's been like, a really awful couple of weeks and…" Her expression only grew more wry, and he grimaced. "I know, I know it's my fault and like, I'm really sorry and all but…"

"Rusty. What happened… what you did," she corrected herself, "is one thing, and the status of my relationship with Jack is another, and the two are _completely_ separate."

"Are you sure?"

What was he, Dr. Phil? Sharon closed her eyes briefly. "Rusty."

"Just…look, don't be mad at Jack because of… like, because of me, or whatever, okay?" he pleaded. "That's just… it's messed up. I don't want to do that to you, Sharon. And I mean, I know it's your business and everything," he hurried before she could interject, "but like… I really think you should…wait."

Sharon sighed. And again she tried to think of a way to reassure him that she was most definitely _not_ getting a divorce because she was mad at him – or even because she was mad at Jack over what Jack had said to him! She wasn't making decisions for either of those reasons. She wasn't.

Was she?

* * *

She _was_ mad at Rusty, that much was true.

She was so mad at him. Or had been, at least; now the intensity of it was fading. She found herself able to talk to him again – even something as simple as that had been a challenge for the past two weeks. At times, she'd felt as though it would never get better.

Then Jack had shown up, and somewhere on _that_ rock bottom, his thoughtless words had somehow jolted her right out of her gloom, her flare of indignation on Rusty's behalf burning through the numbness in an entirely unanticipated side-effect.

Oh she was still mad, but now she was just less bone-deeply unhappy about everything.

It was a vast improvement over how she'd been feeling for two weeks.

Two weeks before, she'd thought that maybe she'd never see Rusty again.

He'd complained about the security every day, every second, about the protection detail and the restricted freedoms and the basic lockdown policy, and was he going to be treated like a criminal for the rest of his life? And every day Sharon would tell him the same, that she was sorry it was hard, but he was _safe_. And every time he'd roll his eyes and protest more, and it had worn _her_ patience thin as well, because a month of having literally the same argument over and over again _every single day_, well that was a lot.

Then one day he'd gone off on his own to play chess at the park, and it had taken all her self-restraint to send two officers after him rather than go herself. Emma had gone too, and Sharon had allowed it because Rusty had _deserved_ it. They'd brought him back angry, one step below kicking and screaming really, flanked by the two stony-faced officers and followed by the DDA who'd looked ready to start pulling out her hair.

When he'd done the same thing again a week later, she'd sent two officers _and_ Lt. Flynn _and_ Det. Sanchez, who'd scared off half the chess players before escorting the loudly protesting teenager back again.

The third time Sharon had gone after him herself.

She'd walked out on a defense attorney and a Mayor's aide to go chasing after him in the park, and when he'd spotted her he'd rolled his eyes and gotten up from the chess table with an exasperated huff, and then he'd actually _turned his back on her_ and, pointedly ignoring her, started to drag off back toward the station on his own.

It had been the biggest fight they'd had to date, started halfway through the park with her icy comment on his complete disregard of his own life, fueled all the way up the steps of the police building by his frustrated protests that the security protocols were ridiculous anyway, and made worse by both of them getting angrier with every step. By the time they'd walked into the murder room, Rusty had informed her that he could take care of himself a lot better than she could do it for him, and Sharon had threatened to plaster his picture all over the park under a big 'Wanted' poster if he ever went off again on his own.

By the time they'd reached her office, he'd decided not to testify against Stroh anymore, and _she'd_ decided that he had no more right to make decisions about his life, because his decisions were all wrong.

There had been a lot of yelling, and in the end Sharon had said that the security detail would now follow him everywhere and if he didn't quit being immature she'd handcuff him to an officer, and Rusty had said that she was ruining his life and that he'd rather be out on the streets. And then he'd turned and stormed out of her office.

And straight out of the building.

Unbelievably, it hadn't occurred to her that he'd _actually_ left until a few minutes later, when she'd found the security detail and, halfway through instructing them to hound his every footstep, had realized that she hadn't seen Rusty storm back in again. She'd thought that he'd gone to the break room, or the restroom, or… it just hadn't seemed possible that he'd go right back out, not after everything that had literally _just_ happened.

She'd worked herself up into an even angrier state by the time she'd marched back to the park, only to find her anger promptly replaced by panic when _he wasn't there_.

Security detail in tow, she'd scoured every inch of the park, while having the team search the police building in case he'd just holed up somewhere in there after all. But twenty minutes later, they'd found nothing and she'd already half-convinced herself that the letter writer had gotten to him.

The amber alert had gone out shortly after, but by then they were far behind him.

Not that she hadn't _tried_. Driven by equal parts fury and blind panic, she'd had everyone out on the streets within the hour after Rusty's disappearance. Notices to local law enforcement, shelters, travel hubs and news stations had gone out before the sun had set on that awful day. She'd pulled LAPD officers off their down time and away from their families and had them searching every nook and cranny within a fifty-block radius.

But it was a big city, and Friday evening was an agitated time, and if someone didn't want to be found…

By dawn the next day, the search had become a manhunt. She must've circulated his description to every agency in the state. When the usual onslaught of phone calls started pouring in, she'd recruited divisions from SIS to Traffic and sent them out to follow every last ridiculous lead.

By Saturday night, the manhunt had become a frenzy.

Sharon vaguely recalled Taylor telling her at some point that they couldn't keep the entire LAPD engaged in one missing person action. The boy was near the legal adult age and had obviously left of his own accord, he did not qualify as 'critical missing' and _their budget_… Sharon wasn't sure exactly what she'd said back – by then Rusty had been gone forty hours and she'd had very few resources to spare on idiotic conversations – but it must've been something along the lines of 'no', 'mine', and 'go to hell'.

Taylor had taken it surprisingly well, considering.

So she'd kept up the search, recruiting more people and pouring more resources into it, but even so with every hour she'd been more convinced that she would really never see Rusty again.

Then a tip had come in from Stockton, _four hundred miles away_, and what had followed was a frantic race that involved police cars speeding down the I-5, sirens blaring, and notices flying to all rest stops and gas stations between LA and Sacramento. She'd missed him in Stockton, but had managed to follow his trail to the local bus terminal, and then there had been more racing down freeways.

She'd found Rusty again at a rest stop outside of Fresno, fifty-one hours after he'd left, trying to convince a truck driver to give him a ride back to L.A. in exchange for nine dollars and sixty-three cents. That was all the money he had left, he'd explained, so he hadn't been able to figure out the trip back on such limited funds – yet. But he was going to!

Oh, no, he hadn't wanted to call Sharon to pick him up because he'd been so far away and by his own stupid fault and he hadn't wanted to bother her_._

Uh, inconvenience her.

Put her through any trouble.

Any _more_ trouble…?

He was really sorry.

Sharon sighed.

So yes. She was still mad...

But for the first time in many days, she was finally starting to feel a little less shell-shocked.

"Sharon…?" Rusty was standing by the sofa holding a steaming cup of tea, and she almost-smiled because he'd been making her more tea over the past two weeks than he'd probably made in his entire seventeen years of life. "Are you okay…?"

The fact that it was his third time asking her in the span of one evening was not a good sign.

* * *

The truth was no, she wasn't 'okay', since not only had he been right earlier about the last couple of weeks being pretty awful, but the last two _days_, with Jack there again, had been no party, either. And then _today_… ugh. She was exhausted, and cranky, and fairly drowning in self-doubt, and tea was very nice, yes, but no amount of ginger mint was going to fix _that_ much anxiety, and...

"Rusty." Her brain was telling her to shut up, but _exhausted_. And _drowning in self-doubt_. Sharon lowered the mug to her lap, and stared at the tassels of a throw pillow. "Rusty," she said again, quietly, "I know that… living here, living with _me_, can be difficult for you. Especially now. I know that. And… if I'm not always as sympathetic as you'd like me to be to your situation… I..." She sighed, "I don't mean to make things harder on you."

He was looking very unhappy, and she tried to think of a way to backpedal.

"If there's anyth –"

"Sharon, please, just… don't think like that, okay?" He shook his head. "I didn't run away because it was hard living with you – and _Jack_," his eyebrows drew together in an angry scowl, "I mean, no offense but like, that was… it was an asshole thing for him to say, okay?"

"Rusty."

"No – I mean I'm sorry, but he shouldn't have said that, because he has like, no idea what the hell he's talking about!" He crossed his arms, sounding upset. "Living with you isn't _hard_, Sharon, it's… living with you... is… " He averted his eyes, head dropping to his chest. "It's living with _me_, that's hard, alright? It's … or just like, _being_ me. That's what's hard, sometimes."

She said his name again, a compassionate look in her eyes.

Rusty let himself drop into one of the chairs, propping one elbow on the dining table and leaning his forehead in his hand.

"That's why I left… It's… I wasn't running from _you_, Sharon. You don't think that, right?" When she didn't reply immediately he looked up, pleadingly. "I wasn't… I – I was _angry_, I wanted to get away, from just… everything."

She nodded softly, "I get it."

"But you were right," he said somberly, "the things that I was running from… I took them with me."

A few seconds passed in contemplative silence, both of them lost in thought.

"That's how it usually works," Sharon agreed in a quiet voice.

"I'm sorry Jack said those things to you."

She shook her head. "Honey, don't apologize for him. I don't care what Jack says." She saw his doubtful look and tried to ignore it. "I'm sorry you had to hear any of that. And I'm sorry for what he said to _you_… God," Sharon closed her eyes painfully, "Rusty, I'd never –"

"I know." He shifted in his chair, rubbing both cheeks with his hands. "I…I know."

There was another pensive silence, then Sharon let out a small huff, a trace of sad amusement to it. Here they were, apologizing to one another over things that Jack had said. The absurdity of it was almost too much.

"If you still want pizza for dinner," she spoke up again after a moment, nodding to the kitchen, "I think that dough shouldn't be out on the counter for much longer."

Rusty glanced over his shoulder at the two packs of frozen dough. "Right. Uh… are you still like, in the mood for that?"

"Would you like to order in, instead?"

"No… I mean, the dough's already been out for like, two hours anyway, so we might as well use it, right?" He walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge, while Sharon relaxed against the back of the sofa for another minute, tiredness washing over her in a slow wave.

"So... there's cheese and uh, ham, bacon…"

She felt a smile tug at her lips. "Who'd ever put bacon on pizza…?"

It was the first time in two weeks that she'd been able to say something even remotely humorous to him; the realization nearly brought tears to her eyes. She quickly lowered her face over the steaming mug.

Rusty leaned back enough to get a direct line of sight to her, one hand still holding the fridge door open, and gave her a Look.

"_Everybody_."

Sharon responded with a slight smile, taking another sip of her tea. The boy pulled out a couple of things from the fridge, then paused, letting the door close as he glanced back over to the sofa.

"Sharon…" His look was pleading again, when their eyes met. "I was coming home. You believe me, right?"

She looked away briefly, before dipping her head in a slow nod. "I do."

"I'm sorry."

"I know."

He didn't seem to know what to do with himself, standing there uncertainly, one hand still on the fridge door handle, while he seemed to look for more things to say. With a sigh, Sharon finished the last of her tea and got up from the sofa.

She paused next to him on the way to the sink. "I know, honey." With her free hand, she squeezed his shoulder, before moving away again. "Let's make dinner, it's getting late," she told him, and turned a brief jet of water on her empty mug.

* * *

It was almost an hour later that they heard voices outside the condo, the familiar timbre of Jack's baritone and the responses of the two security guards. Sharon closed her eyes.

She'd hoped that he wouldn't come – or at least that he wouldn't come until she and Rusty had gone to sleep, and then she could deal with the whole thing in the morning, which would've been great because she really was exhausted. And with her thoughts and emotions a chaotic whirlwind inside her head, she hadn't gotten a chance to really think about what she'd even _tell him_, and… now she had to do it all and she was just. not. ready.

Briefly, she pondered not saying anything and just going to bed, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it came. No. This had to be done. And well, she'd told her lawyer that she wanted a divorce, and she'd told her foster son that she wanted a divorce, and frankly sooner rather than later the news was _bound_ to reach her _husband's_ ears, so she might as get that over with tonight.

Only she was really tired, and really, really not ready to deal with Jack again.

When the knock on the door came, she considered simply not answering. The security detail wouldn't let Jack inside in a hundred years without her permission. He could just spend the night at a hotel. Tomorrow, she'd have a clearer head and the ability to handle him again and really, she didn't _want_ him in her house and would it have been so terrible just to ignore the knocking, just for tonight?

Sharon sighed and stood up from the table. She held up a hand when Rusty opened his mouth.

"If you're finished with dinner, go to your room," she requested. "Don't worry about cleaning up, I'll do that."

He was already shaking his head before she'd even finished talking. "Sharon…"

"Honey. Jack and I need to talk about … things. And … it's not ideal, that it has to be tonight, and right here, but then there's really no good time for these things." She smiled and put a hand on his shoulder again. "So the best way you can help right now is by going to your room and giving us the privacy to have the conversation between adults that we need to have. Alright?"

"Are you _sure_?" He looked like he wanted nothing more than for her to change her mind. Whether about making him go to his room, or about telling Jack tonight, or about the whole divorce in the first place, she couldn't tell. "Sharon, I think you should –"

"Rusty." She straightened her shoulders and pulled the edges of her sweater tighter around her. "I understand that you have a point of view on this, and we can discuss it further between the two of us, but now is no longer the time. Are you done eating?" His plate was empty and there was no pizza left, so he had no alternative but to nod, however reluctantly. "Alright. Then off you go. And Rusty – " she gave him a look of mild warning, "when I say Jack and I need privacy, I mean it . Unless it's an emergency, I'd like _no interruptions_."

"But –"

"Okay?"

His shoulders slumped. "Yeah. Okay." Rusty pushed his chair back and stood up with a wary look, right as the knock on the door repeated.

She unconsciously tugged at the edges of her sweater again, and gave him one last smile before walking over to the door.

"Sharon – " he paused halfway down the hall, and grimaced at her impatient look, " I know, I know, I'm going but… uh, I know this is like, none of my business but… it's… you're…" He shifted on the balls of his feet, staring at the floor. "Living with you is _not_ hard," he told her determinedly.

A warm smile bloomed on Sharon's lips.

"Thank you, honey," she replied in a soft voice. "Good night."

And she waited until the door to his room clicked shut before finally making her way to open the front door.

" – suppose we could try calling – oh, there she is." Jackson Raydor, her husband of over thirty years, mostly absent for the last twenty, gave her his signature grin. "Sharon, we thought you and the kid had maybe turned in early. But I'm glad that's not the case, and – ah, thank you officer," he tipped his nonexistent hat at one of the men who'd finally moved out of the way so Jack could reach the door. "– and I hope, if you've already had dinner, that you left room for _dessert_," he continued, "because guess who found that old bakery you used to love so much! _Venezia Cara_?" He held up a large paper bag. "Who knew it'd still be open after this long, right? And they still had that flourless chocolate cake! Best gluten-free dessert I've ever had," he shared with the two officers, "I'm sorry that you won't get to join us to try it. Though I get it of course, duty and all...hard to take a breather with the boss right here, eh...?" He winked at them conspiratorially. "We'll just have to save you some of this delectable treat for later. Although if I recall, someone isn't too fond of sharing..."

Sharon pinched the bridge of her nose and silently stepped out of the way so he could step inside the condo, and tried to take a deep, calming breath.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Next chapter, we'll see Jack's reaction to Sharon's decision to divorce him (my reaction is a highly positive one!), as well as more of the aftermath of Rusty's misadventure.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you all for your comments :). **

_Days Like These, pt. 3_

Sharon leaned briefly against the door as it clicked shut. Her hands felt icy cold all of a sudden; her fingers shook a little when she turned the lock.

Unaware of anything being out of the ordinary, Jack had strolled past her into the kitchen area and deposited the bakery bag on the counter. He was now in the process of pulling out a cake box decorated with dark-blue abstract designs.

"I got us some croissants for tomorrow morning, too." He pulled a smaller paper bag out, held it up with a tempting smile. "Hm? Of course, the almond flour kind for me… who said the French had the monopoly on good breakfast pastry?"

Sharon simply watched him in silence, standing, arms crossed, by the sofa. Her eyes following his movements as he folded the bag and dropped it into recycling.

"Ah, speaking of breakfast... I forgot we ran out of soymilk this morning. You didn't happen to get a chance to stop by the supermarket, did you?"

This time, she couldn't keep a note of disbelief from her expression, her chin lowering, eyes narrowing a fraction; glancing up at her continued silence, Jack noticed the reaction, and his hands momentarily paused above the cake box.

"Never mind," he said after a second, and the silence stretched on as he finished unwrapping the cake.

"... So, would you like a slice?" The light tone and persuasive smile were back. "I know it's almost nine and you have your rules about dessert and sugar and so on, but I think _this_ is worth a little cheating, no?"

The scene was too absurd for words. Sharon just shook her head, stunned almost, at the whole parody of it.

"Are you sure? Wanna ask the kid if _he_'d like some? Can't go wrong with _Cara Venezia_'s flourless chocolate…"

Her body had instinctively tensed when he'd brought up her foster son. "Rusty and I already ate." She hated how all emotion had drained out of her voice. Jack must have heard it, too, because he gave her a wary look before clearing his throat.

"Well… alright, then, it'll keep, I suppose." He folded the box and put that in recycling too. By the time he'd transferred the cake to a large platter and put it in the fridge, it was becoming hard to ignore the heavy silence.

Jack let the fridge door close with a sigh, and turned to her. "Okay, Sharon. I can see you're still upset." There was an almost resigned note to his words.

"I'm not _upset_, Jack. I'm…" But 'angry' was no longer true, either. She wasn't angry anymore. She was just sad. Sad and very, very tired. And she wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

"Well, whatever you are, I assume you'll only feel better if you get it off your chest," he sighed again, shuffling over to the sink to get a glass of water, "so go ahead. I'm listening."

It was as perfect an opening as he could've given her, but somehow Sharon couldn't take it, falling back on familiar refrains instead.

"Frankly, I'm a little surprised to see you back here." Her tone was soft, with that undertone of sarcasm that she so easily slipped into whenever Jack was near.

"Because you made it painstakingly clear that you don't want me around?" With a quiet scoff, he walked over to the sofa. "Look, Sharon, if it bothers you _that much_ to have me stay over, I'll find a hotel."

He'd have to, by the end of the night.

"I just thought you might have left town again, after today."

Jack paused to give her a long look. "Well… I didn't. Guess you don't know me as well as you think."

The words echoed oddly in the silent living room, a bitter aftertone lingering in the air.

Sharon averted her eyes for a moment, fixing the corner of the coffee table with a sad gaze. "Jack," she said quietly, and looked back to him. "I'm filing the papers for divorce."

* * *

The silence before had been tense and uncomfortable; now, it was deafening. Jack simply stared at her for a half a minute, then he turned and pulled out the sheets and pillows for the sofa, setting them on the corner cushion before taking a seat, himself. He crossed one leg over the other and sipped wordlessly from his water glass, and soon it became obvious that he had no intention to say anything at all.

The complete lack of reaction left Sharon at a loss.

"Did you…" Hear? Understand? Either of those sounded ridiculous and condescending, because of course he'd _heard_ her, but … she had no idea what to make of his response. "Jack, did you understand what I just said?"

He gave her an impatient glance. "_Yes_, Sharon, I heard you."

And then nothing, again.

Sharon shook her head, confused. "Is…I…" She stuttered, and _damn it_, how did he manage to leave her feeling so flat-footed? "Is there… do you want to discuss anything about this…?"

Jack let out a long-suffering sigh. "Sharon," he told her. "You're tired. I'm tired. Why don't we call it a night, and we can 'discuss this' in the morning?"

Which was nothing but what she'd wanted all along, yet somehow coming from him, the suggestion sounded… off. She wasn't sure what was bothering her about it.

Other than the fact that he obviously still planned to spend the night, that is.

In the grand scheme of things, that wasn't even that big a deal, nor was it truly surprising… but still…

She cleared her throat again, and Jack gave her an almost sympathetic look, still sipping quietly from his glass:

"Was there anything else…?"

What was _wrong_ with the man! Heat rose to Sharon's cheeks.

"Jack – there's nothing _else_, no… but I'd like to know that you're taking this matter seriously."

He swirled the water in the glass, and sighed once more. "Ohh _as_ seriously as possible, I assure you." When she couldn't help an annoyed exhale, he looked up again, for the first time seeming a bit irritated. "Come on, Sharon, do we have to do this _now_? I get it, you're angry. I'm sorry about that – but to be perfectly honest with you, I'm kind of running out of ideas as to how to help you, here."

He shook his head, standing up to take his glass to the sink.

"Getting on your good side can really be a bit of thankless job, sometimes, you know?" The jet of water from the sink briefly filled the silence, and then Jack glanced over his shoulder. "Look, why don't we just get a good night's sleep, and hopefully we'll both feel better in the morning."

Sharon stared at him in disbelief, the confusion, the indignation, the sadness and annoyance and that bone-deep _exhaustion_ whirling together in a chaotic mixture, that left her feeling as though the world was spinning fifty times faster. And with that, the disheartening realization that this was a familiar feeling.

How many times through the years had she stood there across from him, with the ground shaking beneath her feet?

"We can talk about the rest in the morning, if you prefer," she conceded in the end. Her voice sounded hollow to her own ears, again. "There isn't… there isn't much in the way of details, anyway. Gavin has the paperwork –"

It was Jack's turn to look disbelieving. "You actually called _Baker_?" His grimace of disdain hadn't changed over the years. She'd forgotten how much Jack disliked Gavin, too. "Jesus, Sharon… why'd you have to go and do that? You _know_ we'll never hear the end of it, now."

Again she tried to think of something to say in response, and failed.

Whatever she'd imagined this discussion being, the realities of it kept catching her entirely unprepared.

Jack pulled his toothbrush and sleep shorts out of his suitcase, and shuffled over to the bathroom. "You don't happen to have any antacids, do you? I'm afraid I'm gonna need them."

Sharon closed her eyes for a second, a futile attempt to stave off the growing headache.

"Medicine cabinet," she said finally in a tired breath.

And when the door to the bathroom had closed behind him, she let herself drop into an armchair, lowered her forehead in her hand and tried to figure out at which point exactly she'd dropped the reins of this conversation. It was true that she hadn't had a plan, yes... but how were things running so _terribly_ out of her control...?

But the truth was, she'd hardly had any control over the situation at all, from the second Jack had set foot in the condo for this latest visit. He'd dropped in in the midst of such a troubled time, nearly two weeks after Rusty's misadventure, when Sharon had been reeling from that still; Jack's abrupt arrival had only knocked her further out of kilter. She hadn't been in a good place _before_ he'd come... and after, everything could, of course, only have grown worse…

* * *

_Two nights before…_

Seated in her usual corner of the sofa, Sharon leafed through a folder with the latest case file, reviewing her own notes from earlier. She could only half-focus on the task... but then that was nothing new, these days.

The situation with Rusty kept taking its toll even long after it had, technically, been resolved. He was home, yes, and she wasn't angry anymore, not really… but somehow there was _something_ inside her that Sharon couldn't quite get over. There were no words to even describe it, just the uncomfortable sensation of a weight on her chest whenever she thought about what he'd done; a weight that caused her heart to constrict and words to die down in her throat and a miserable hollow in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't _know_ why she was having so much trouble moving on. He'd apologized twenty times over and it was obvious that he wanted to be there and that he was sorry and … but still there was something that wasn't allowing her to let go, and not knowing what it was, she had no idea how to fix it. Trying and failing over and over was leaving her constantly exhausted.

Rusty was curled up in one of the armchairs, laptop on his lap, silent as she was. He only gave her wary glances every now and then. Conversation between them was sparse and half-forced still; he initiated most of it and Sharon knew, she could _see_ that he was trying, but she simply couldn't think of much to say in return. She did her best to be responsive whenever he spoke up, because she wasn't _trying_ to punish him more – he was already grounded for the foreseeable future, and she didn't mean to add the silent treatment to that – only words were hard to get past that sad little something in her chest.

It worried her, this overreaction of sorts. Was it shock? That might've excused her for the first couple of days after finding him, but it had been twelve days now and she still woke up every morning feeling like she wanted to cry, and whatever that _was_, it wasn't shock anymore. Something else was bothering her, and she couldn't put her finger on it, and that was equal parts frustrating and scary.

Sharon didn't like not knowing what was going on in her own head.

Or her own heart, or wherever the source of this dull anguish was that was weighing so heavily on her. _Why_ was she having such a hard time with what Rusty had done? He'd been monumentally inconsiderate, yes, and reckless and gambling with his own life and so, so unkind, and of course she was going to be unhappy about it, but frankly she'd forgiven some pretty awful things from her other children before. Neither of them had run from her, true, but…

An icy sort of discomfort churned in her stomach, and Sharon shifted in her seat and gave up that train of thought. A soft involuntary sigh escaped her as she focused back on the case notes.

"Do you –" Rusty cleared his throat, fidgeting a little. "Do you mind if I … make some... tea?" He gave her a cautious look.

He'd done this several times so far, every now and then he'd find a pretext to make tea and Sharon would let him, even though she knew that he didn't really like tea. Or she thought she knew. Maybe she'd been wrong. She'd been wrong about a lot of things.

"Go ahead," she said softly, and forced herself to think of something more to add because again, she knew that he was _trying_… "There's a new honey jar at the back of the cabinet." There, that was good enough, as good as she could manage in any case, and it might've sounded almost normal if not for… everything.

"Would you like some?" He wavered halfway to getting up from his armchair, and she accomplished a small smile with only moderate effort.

"I would. Thank you."

Rusty looked almost too relieved when he jumped out of his seat, and a second later he was banging cabinet doors, causing her lips to twitch in a bittersweet grimace at the familiar sound. A few seconds later he rattled off about half a dozen flavors for her to pick from, casting anxious glances at her after each one. Once she'd picked, there was more tinkering and the sound of mugs clanging against the counter, and Sharon lowered her head above the case file again and let out another soft sigh as a familiar knot rose in her throat.

That was when they heard the sudden commotion at the front door, and things began to spiral even further downhill…

* * *

She'd opened the condo door to find Jack backed against the far wall, hands in the air, flanked by the two officers that made up the security detail. One of them had a watchful eye and a weapon trained on him, while the other studied the wallet that he'd presumably produced for identification.

He looked like he wanted to lower his hands when he saw her, but the sight of the gun made him reconsider. "Sharon!" He cleared his throat, smiled. "I have to say, this wasn't exactly the reunion I had in mind… er, can you please tell your uh, bodyguards…? ...that I'm your husband and it's okay to let me through?" He looked from one man to the other, than wriggled his eyebrows at her in a hopeful manner. "Not that the officers and I didn't have fun searching each other, but I'm a little out of shape for this kind of gymnastics...! Why do you have bodyguards, anyway? Are they giving LAPD captains new perks, these days?"

She could only stare at him, shocked.

"Jack. What are you – " But she trailed off, because she didn't really want to know. Wasn't it always the same, anyway?

She gestured to the two officers to let him go, and he lowered his hands and grinned at everyone and made a great show of adjusting his jacket.

"Thank you – oh, yes, shouldn't forget _that_!" He retrieved his wallet from one of the officers, then turned to her again with a jovial smile. "So. Sharon. This was certainly an exciting welcome. Can we go inside now… or is there an X-ray machine around here that I need to pass through?"

Her voice had still not started working again, so she just wordlessly moved out of the doorway, more out of habit than as an invitation, really. But either way Jack stepped inside. She managed to nod a tired thanks to the security detail before closing the door. Her head was already spinning, and Jack had only been there about thirty seconds.

"Hello, young man! Ah – no lamp this time, I see."

Sharon turned around to see Rusty standing warily in the hallway, his cheeks a little flushed. There were still enough traces of residual alarm in his expression that she didn't have the heart to scold him.

But she said it anyway, "I told you to wait in your room," because if he couldn't even follow that simple instruction when it came to his security…

"I recognized Jack's voice," the boy mumbled, and she nodded and let him off the hook, this time, reaching a hand to squeeze his shoulder in a silent reassurance that there hadn't been any danger and he didn't need to worry.

The teapot whistled, then, and after glancing at her and receiving a slight nod in return, Rusty walked over to the stove to take care of it. Sharon directed her attention back to her husband, arms crossing as she studied him with a guarded look:

"What are you doing here, Jack?" There was no way around that question, after all.

"Well, right now, I'm wondering what that delicious smell is!" He sniffed the air with a smile, taking a couple of steps to get a better view of the kitchen. "Is that jasmine-peach tea? One of my favorites. Do you mind getting out an extra mug, Rusty?"

It was impossible to miss the way the boy immediately glanced to Sharon again, and this time there was no nod from her to go ahead; she didn't even meet his eyes, preferring to keep her steady gaze on the man in front of her.

"Jack."

He let out a conceding sigh, turning his smile on her again. "Alright, Sharon, I can see that I can't get anything past your keen detective senses… Well, the truth is – you know I'm hopeless at holding grudges – the truth is I couldn't stop thinking about the way we left things, last time." He gave a self-deprecating little shrug. "It just didn't sit well, you know? So I thought we could use some nice time together, get on better terms again…"

Sharon stared, wondering if she was somehow delirious. It had been a really stressful couple of weeks. Maybe she was losing her mind.

"I'm only in town for a few days," he continued, "although technically my court-appointed attorney license is still valid, but I don't know about giving that another go, after last time. No, I really just came mostly to see you…" he trailed off, frowning as he studied her more carefully for the first time, "…and now that I'm here, I'm thinking maybe I should've come earlier. Sharon, are you sick? You don't look so good."

She simply couldn't stop the perplexed staring. "No," she remembered to reply after a few seconds. "No Jack, I'm not sick."

He was still frowning. "Are you sure? Maybe you're just tired. Why don't you sit down and let me bring you that tea. You know, to start us off on the right foot…"

This time she physically took a step back when he tried to reach for her elbow. "No."

"Come on, Sharon, you look like you need it. I might as well earn my keep, so to speak – it's no bother."

She still couldn't help wondering if this was all some sort of delirious nightmare. "No, thank you."

"Come on, I can just – "

"She said no, okay? Just… drop it." Rusty sounded about as unhappy as she felt, and it occurred to Sharon that this latest trial wasn't only a disruption in _her_ life. The last thing _he_ needed, too, was more pressure… and she'd been doing such a terrible job handling the aftermath of him running away, and they were both so tense and uneasy and now _this_…

A slight shiver went through her, her hands in the pockets of the sweater tightening into fists.

Jack's eyebrows rose as he looked from her to Rusty. "Is there something I'm missing here?"

"No," Sharon said curtly. Taking a deep breath, she tried to keep her voice from shaking too much. "Excuse me."

And with that, she retreated down the hall to her bedroom in as composed - and as rapid - a manner as she could manage.

Jack looked after her, entirely unsure of what had just happened. "…I'll just… make myself at home on the couch, then…"

* * *

_Now…_

A sudden noise startled her from her thoughts, and Sharon looked up to see Rusty hovering uncertainly by the sofa. Her features instinctively arranged themselves into an expression of mild warning:

"What did I tell you?" she admonished.

"I know but like, I could hear Jack in the bathroom so _obviously_ you two weren't having your private conversation or anything _right now_," he hurried to defend, "and like, I think I was getting thirsty so I came to get some water – you know, so that way I won't have to interrupt you _later_." He looked so proud of his argument that Sharon couldn't help a soft, amused huff, even though she wasn't feeling much in the way of humor at the moment.

She waved a hand toward the kitchen in a silent indication to go ahead, and for a second Rusty looked confused as to what she was expecting him to do, and she could read it on his face when he remembered that _right_ – thirsty, water. A small smile tugged at her lips, though it faded quickly as her tiredness and preoccupation caught up again. Her eyes involuntarily wandered toward the closed bathroom door.

"So, like…" Rusty glanced back over to her while filling the world's slowest glass of water. "Did you… talk... to Jack…?"

Sharon sighed. "More or less." Less, really. "It's... a process."

Talking to Jack usually was.

"Right..." He was eyeing her warily again. "Uhm, so, do you think if I made some tea..."

Her warning look snapped back into place before he could even finish.

Then the bathroom door rattled, and Sharon wordlessly motioned with her head in the direction of his room, absently wondering if Rusty knew how lucky he could count himself that he_ didn't_ have to stay and witness whatever drawn-out, painful mess her conversation with Jack was building up to be.

* * *

**Next up: Rusty's POV on what's been happening! And, finding out what exactly Jack said to Sharon that finally made her call Gavin.  
**

**Thank you for reading! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you all for your comments :) Just for the record, I am in complete agreement with the entire list terrible things that you guys wish inflicted on Jack, from having a cake slammed in his face, to being murdered, to being eaten by a polar bear. And more! **

_Days Like These, pt. 4_

It's not like he _wanted_ to be there for that conversation, okay? It wasn't like, his idea of fun, or anything. And he knew that Sharon didn't need... reinforcements, or a cheerleading squad or whatever. But if Jack was only gonna tell her more of what he'd told her that afternoon at the station, well, Rusty didn't think _that_ was cool, either.

He closed the bedroom door behind him and went right back to the aimless pacing he'd been doing before.

He couldn't tell how things were going with Jack, but by the way Sharon had looked when he'd gone out into the living room, not well. He hated that she had to deal with _that_, too, on top of everything else – and although, technically, Rusty wasn't to blame for that bit, he still felt responsible. If he hadn't walked in on them earlier, at the station, and if he hadn't overheard Jack, then maybe Sharon wouldn't have gotten so mad and…he still couldn't believe she'd actually _called _her_ lawyer_.

There was something scary about the whole thing.

He hadn't been trying to eavesdrop, earlier, but they'd been talking right in front of the break room, in the middle of the corridor, and their voices carried, okay? And he'd have turned back, except then he'd heard his name and why would he be the topic of Sharon and Jack fighting? He'd paused uncertainly in his tracks.

_Do you really think you're doing the kid any favors? He'll turn eighteen eventually, and then what?_

Sharon's reply had sounded pretty cross. By the time Rusty had gotten over his own churning anxiety enough to properly listen to what they were saying, again, the conversation had turned to … other things, personal things, things he definitely had no business listening to. He'd decided to make his presence known, then, because really, _anyone_ could've walked by and heard the two of them, and he didn't think Sharon had realized that.

Propelled by the impulse to let her know he was there, he'd turned the corner just in time to hear Jack throw the most awful, wrong, stupid, _awful_ thing at her, and then Rusty had wished that he could've just turned and walked away and pretend he'd never heard any of it. But by then they'd already seen him and it had been too late.

He'd never forget the expression on Sharon's face when Jack had addressed the next words to him.

… _you should prepare yourself for all the strings attached, kid. _

_You might end up wishing you'd stayed gone, 'cause you're just _never_ gonna live this down…_

Rusty groaned at the memory of it, and emptied the entire water glass in one long gulp.

Sharon didn't think that, did she? She didn't think he was _like_ that, she _couldn't_ think so… could she? Because he wasn't, and he didn't think that way, and hadn't run from _her_, no matter what Jack said, and it was really, really important that Sharon realize that... because for the first time Rusty was maybe beginning to understand why she'd been having such a hard time forgiving him. And it was possible that it wasn't entirely about _him_, at all.

* * *

Running away that day was possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever done, Rusty knew that. He'd known that from about ten minutes in, really, when the Greyhound bus had pulled out of the terminal and was about to merge onto the I-5, and Rusty's blind anger had faded just enough for him to process that he'd just boarded some random bus to he-couldn't-even-remember-where, and that Sharon was going to kill him.

He'd been a little conflicted, then, about what to do, because on the one hand he was still really angry and Sharon was being so unreasonable and you know what, he could totally take care of himself, okay? Maybe this would show her that he didn't need guard dogs, he could get around the city just fine on his own and if she liked that security detail so much, she could have them follow _her_ around like a pair of overgrown, heavily armed ducklings!

On the other hand, random bus. Heading out of LA. And Sharon would kill him.

By the time they'd hit the freeway, he'd made a plan to get off at Bakersfield and catch a ride back. And if Sharon yelled at him when he returned, well, it wasn't Rusty's problem, because she was being totally unfair anyway, and like, maybe if she'd spend more time looking for the psycho who was sending him threat letters and less time trying to figure out new ways to ruin what little freedom Rusty had left, then they'd all be better off!

But also, he'd hoped that she wouldn't yell _too_ much.

Either way, the bus wasn't stopping until Bakersfield, so it wasn't as though Rusty could have done anything about anything until then, so why bother worrying about it? That train of thought had calmed him down when he'd started to freak out about two minutes after leaving LA – secretly, he'd begun to hope that maybe Sharon wouldn't even notice that he'd left, and he could sneak back into the station and pretend like nothing had happened.

Well. Sharon had noticed.

Worse, he'd dozed off like an idiot and slept right through the Bakersfield stop, and the next two stops as well, and by the time he'd woken up the names on the road signs had been totally unfamiliar and he'd _really_ freaked out, then. Having dumped his phone somewhere on his angry flight from the police building, he'd literally left himself zero ways of letting Sharon know where he was... and at that point, there had been nothing to do but wait until the bus reached its destination.

It had been almost one a.m. when they'd reached the Stockton terminal. He'd considered calling Sharon from a payphone, but it was _one a.m_., okay? And by then she'd definitely have noticed that he'd run off, and she was probably furious, and the least he could do was wait until the next morning to call at a decent hour.

(When he'd explained _that_, Sharon had actually let out a strangled, disbelieving sort of half-sob that was the saddest sound he'd ever heard her make. And he was an idiot.)

Stockton, it had turned out, was _cold_. Rusty had found a couple of uncomfortable plastic chairs near one of the gates and tried to sleep there until he could catch a bus back the next morning, but some stupid security guard had given him a hard time about it and honestly, Stockton people were like, not chill. So he'd ended up on the streets, and hungry too, and about ten minutes into trying to figure a way out of that, he was really missing Sharon. And his room. And like… not freezing.

In the end, he'd stumbled across one of those ancient all-night cinemas, and he'd bought a ticket for $7.50 and spent the night watching an Alfred Hitchcock marathon, which hadn't been the _easiest_ thing to fall asleep to, but at least the movie theater had been warm. He'd holed up in the farthest corner seats, eaten a tub of popcorn that had done very little for his hunger, and tried to ignore the handful of couples making out in some of the other seats, as well as the two creepy guys who looked like they could be characters in the movies, themselves.

In the morning he'd discovered his next problem, which was that his remaining twenty dollars didn't cover a ticket back to LA. The lady behind the counter had been ridiculously unsympathetic to his problem, and she just had not seemed to get it that he _had_ to get back to LA and didn't she understand that a major state criminal case depended on him? Didn't she like, watch TV?!

He'd called Sharon, then, around nine a.m. or so, but she hadn't picked up and he hadn't been able to figure out what to say in a voicemail because… well, he'd been in Stockton, broke and hungry and having spent the night trying to fall asleep to the sound of screaming and crows. He hadn't been sure exactly how to spin _that_ into 'I can take care of myself, stop worrying' yet.

Plus, Sharon would've insisted that she come pick him up because _security_ (ugh), and she'd have had to drive like, a million hours to get there and he'd already given her a lot more trouble than she deserved, probably… and besides, she'd have made him go to the police or something and wait for her, and then he'd have been stuck there for _hours_ and… it was easier for everyone if he just found his own way back.

Only between the financial wrinkle and the fact that his stomach had been growling louder every minute – and damn it, why the hell was Stockton so cold, was it like, in Canada or something?! –, getting back had been… challenging. And miserable. And he'd kind of lost his handle on things just a little bit, ending up in a couple of different towns and why was no one _getting_ that he had to get back to LA like, _asap_, and…

…anyway.

He'd been _so happy_ to see Sharon again, he'd literally _felt_ his entire face light up when he'd spotted her at that awful rest stop, and he'd jumped up from his seat and he might've run up and hugged her, honestly, (he'd been really hungry, okay?), if his brain hadn't caught up a second later and processed her expression. And then he'd remembered that she was probably going to kill him.

Well, she hadn't.

But she hadn't fully forgiven him, either, and the past couple of weeks had been pretty awful, and Sharon kept looking so sad and tired and he just didn't know how to fix anything anymore, and now she wanted to divorce her husband and Rusty wasn't entirely convinced that _that_ wasn't his fault, too.

The bathroom door creaked open, and he could hear Jack heading back into the living room.

* * *

Sharon looked up at the sound of her husband's footsteps. Her hands automatically tightened around the glass of water in front of her on the table; it was too cold to the touch to offer any comfort.

"Jack –"

"Listen, Sharon –"

She inclined her head, a silent gesture for him to go first.

"I was thinking, in there," he started, sighing as he returned the toothbrush to his suitcase. "Maybe you're right. Might be better for both of us if I slept somewhere else tonight. It's early enough to find a decent hotel… or I suppose my brother will do, in a pinch…" Another sigh, and he lowered the top of the suitcase. "That way you can have your space and I can… think about things."

Sharon watched him pull the zipper shut. Her hands shook a little on the table top.

"I'm sorry we didn't get to have any of that cake…" he continued, "you can tell me how it was. Make sure the kid has some, maybe."

"Jack…"

He gave her that flat, demoralized look of his, the one that somehow managed to say 'I expect nothing at all from you', even though, Sharon had learned, it usually meant the exact opposite.

"I…" And damn it, she was feeling like the bad guy all over again. "Jack, I know this wasn't the best time, or the best way, to have this discussion," she admitted. "And I'm not… sure… how to do it better. I'm sorry."

And Jack looked at her again, all wordless disappointment.

"I know Sharon," he said dispiritedly, and picked up the handle of his suitcase.

She thought about telling him that he didn't have to go, but changed her mind. He was right: it _was_ easier for both of them if he didn't spend the night. Not easier on her conscience, but then there was no way to appease that _and_ stick to her decisions.

She stood up from the table almost automatically as he reached the door.

"Well…I hope you have a good night," Jack sighed one last time, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"Jack… we need to talk about this again," she asked tiredly. "Tomorrow, if you want, or the day after. But we'll need to have a proper conversation, work out the details…"

He gave her a long look. "Looks to me like you've got everything worked out already," he remarked.

"Jack –"

But he just shook his head. "Yeah… Whatever you say, Sharon." He reached for the doorknob, pulling the door open. "Guess I'll… see you later, then," he told her.

And with that he was gone.

* * *

Sharon leaned against the door for a long moment, shivering slightly, as the sound from the suitcase wheels faded down the hall and the apartment around her once again fell into silence. Her eyes closed briefly and she let out a slow, weary breath.

To her surprise, she didn't feel like crying.

Not much, at least. She was tired near to the point of tears, sure enough, but beyond that bone-deep exhaustion, beyond the pangs of sadness in her heart and the vague sense of guilt and unease and bitterness, there was a sort of relief inside her. The band-aid-ripping kind of sensation. It hurt, but at least she'd gotten the words out there. It was all she could have asked of herself tonight.

But yes, it did hurt. It was a dull pain, a familiar pain, that settled in the pit of her stomach and caused a bitter taste at the back of her throat. Once, in the beginning, it had been sharp enough to bring her to tears, but over the years she'd gotten used to holding it in, pushing it down until it dispersed to the sort of muted ache that she felt now. Even that had been enough to make her want to cry, sometimes. But not tonight. Maybe it was a sign that she was doing the right thing.

Or maybe she'd just cried all her tears two nights before.

* * *

Jack's arrival had filled her cup to the brim, too abruptly to leave her able to handle it. She hadn't meant to do it, but between her tiredness, the residual whatever-it-was from Rusty's running away, and her estranged husband's sudden reappearance, it had all been too much to deal with on the spot. She'd retreated, fled almost, to her bedroom, with barely a word spoken to either of them.

She'd retreated to regroup and process things, but instead, the second that the bedroom door had closed behind her, everything had caught up with her all at once.

In a way, maybe that had set off the chain of events that had brought her here, tonight, to the conversation that she'd just ended with Jack. Or maybe it _had_ been the fight they'd had earlier today at the police station. Or maybe it was all of it, not just in the past two days, but everything before that, too, building up to the inexorable dissolution of the marriage that had – for better or worse – been a part of her for over half her life.

Sharon walked over to the kitchen and filled the kettle and set it on the stove with slow, economic movements. Then she leaned against the fridge and literally watched the water heat, her thoughts drifting back to that night, again.

* * *

_Two nights before..._

Even as she'd fled she'd told herself that she was too old for this, too old to run off to her room and cry, too grown-up and _too old_. But there was a part of her that had never felt 'too grown-up' for anything. The part that secretly wanted to go see silly children's movies when they premiered and pick her own apples and turn on her siren whenever some jerk cut her off in traffic, the part that laughed out loud when people were ridiculous and cared about matching earrings to her clothes and still got insecure when someone talked over her. _That_ small part of her had always been there, timeless, ageless; that night, it had been that part that had caused her to slide down against the closed door and hug her knees to her chest, hide her face in her arms and cry.

She cried because she was so tired, and sad, and Jack's return was the last thing she needed and it was _so unfair_ for him to be there, just then, in her home, and she hated how things were and she was just so, _so_ tired. She was crying for all the things that she'd done wrong – because whatever she told herself, she _must've_ done things wrong, there were two people in her living room right then and in some way both of them evidence of her failures. That thought tied her stomach up in knots and the tears just keep running hot down her cheeks.

There was pain that she'd thought she'd gotten over long ago, and fresh pain that she didn't even know how to get over, and an overwhelming, irrational fear that no matter what, she was doing everything wrong and how long before others she loved would leave her, too? It made no sense to think that, she knew, but knowing it in her head didn't stop the heartrending dread that coursed through her; she was already sitting on the floor but even so the pain was enough to make her want to double over. How, _how_ had things gotten to this point? What had she missed along the way?

She was trying, trying so hard to bring things back to normal with Rusty, after his flight, and she knew that she was failing. More, the failure came entirely from her, because he wanted nothing more than to go back to normal and she just couldn't get over it, couldn't say or do things right and – the frustration of it wrenched silent sobs from her throat. And now here was Jack, living proof of so many of her other failures, and she was just completely unprepared to deal with _him_, too.

There was just no energy left in her to handle his return and whatever else he wanted from her this time. She was too exhausted to dance their usual dance. The mere thought of having to do that, too, made her want to scream at the injustice of it all.

But of course she couldn't, so instead she just sat there on her bedroom floor and let the weight of all sorts of things she hadn't even known she was feeling crash over her. She managed to make her way away from the door, until she found herself sitting in the far corner of the room, by the bed, her back against the wall. Pulling down one of the pillows, she hugged it to her chest and lowered her face against it, and gave up even trying to stop the tears.

* * *

_Now..._

She'd cried herself to sleep, that night – with difficulty, too, because just getting up from the floor and going to bed had been an effort; each time she'd wanted to lie down, her body had kept trying to curl up into a fetal position until Sharon had lost patience with herself and, wrapping her arms tight around body, _forced_ the silent, racking sobs to subside.

It was possible that she'd felt a little better after all that, but if she had, she didn't remember, because by the time her mind and body had started cooperating again, she'd been left too exhausted to process much of whatever she was feeling. There had been anger, and indignation, and sadness, but maybe somewhere past all that she'd worked some things out, who knew? She did know that there had still been tears trailing down her cheeks when she'd woken up the next morning, and then she'd had to spend a long time in the bathroom trying to work some sort of magic with her make-up.

They hadn't talked about it – and it may have been because Rusty and Jack were trying to spare her dignity or respect her privacy, but more likely they just had _no idea_, and Sharon was fine with that. Maybe they credited her behavior to her being angry, or tired, or a little upset. Jack knew well enough that there were times when she wanted to be left alone, and she'd stopped giving him explanations a long time ago. Rusty knew well enough what it felt like to want to be left alone, and was generally disinclined to ask about these things anyway. And so neither of them had brought it up beyond some vague half-inquiries the next morning, and that had been that.

But even if she didn't talk about it, and tried not to think about it, maybe something _had_ changed within her. Maybe crashing that hard had somehow made her more receptive to what needed to be done. Maybe it had opened her eyes to why she was having such a hard time getting over Rusty's runaway incident, and made her rethink some of her bigger decisions in life.

Or maybe it had just left her sufficiently drained and out of kilter as to act rashly, and she'd come to regret everything as soon as she managed to feel solid ground under her feet again.

It was hard to tell.

"Sharon…?"

She hadn't realized she'd closed her eyes until they instinctively opened again at the sound of Rusty's voice. She was still leaning against the fridge door; her foster son was standing a few feet away, giving her one of those slightly wary looks of his.

There was no point to chide him now for leaving his room again; obviously he wasn't interrupting anything. Instead she mustered up the most amused smile she could and asked, "Are you thirsty again?"

He cleared his throat, "No. I was just… uh…"

But he was saved from having to finish that sentence by the sound of the kettle whistling. Sharon walked over to the stove and turned off the heat, then opened the cabinet to get out a mug.

She looked over her shoulder to him. "Would you like some tea?"

Rusty latched on to the offer with an eager nod. "Yeah."

"What kind?"

"Uh… whatever… you're having…?"

Hardly a surprising answer, seeing as how his preferred kind of tea came in a bottle and was half lemonade.

With a half-smile, Sharon pulled a second mug out, then the first variety of herbal tea she could get her hands on. Chamomile. It would have to do. She took down the honey jar as well.

"So... uh…" Rusty watched her cautiously as she moved both mugs to the bar, "Jack…left?"

She met his eyes, and his shoulders tensed a little, as though he were expecting her to scold him. Far from her intentions; instead, she just mulled her answer over as she inhaled, then nodded once, slowly. "We…agreed," (not the best word, but what else to call it?), "that it might be…easier, if he found different sleeping accommodations for tonight." And presumably, for future nights as well, although that kind of thing was a little hard to predict, with Jack.

Rusty cleared his throat in some sort of acknowledgment. "And are you… okay with that…?"

This time she only glanced up briefly while pouring the water into each mug. "Jack sleeping on our couch was hardly an ideal arrangement for anyone involved," she replied, but the boy pressed on:

"No, but I mean… are you okay with him… leaving?"

Sharon smiled a little sadly. "Honey, Jack has been coming and leaving for a very long time. If anything, tonight is one of the few times that I've been a part of that decision, and more or less informed as to where he went." The humor in her voice held a note of wistfulness, but she gave him a warm look. "So…yes. Don't worry about me. I'm fine."

"Okay…" Rusty didn't sound too convinced, but there was nothing else for him to say. He sniffed at the mug of tea and tried his best to hold back a grimace, then surreptitiously poured about five teaspoons of sugar into it and continued to watch Sharon as she absently stirred the honey into hers with a distant, pensive expression.

* * *

**Next up, we get to see what Jack does after the discussion he and Sharon just had. Also I *think* we might see more of Gavin. And finally, *finally* Sharon might start telling Rusty her story, which in theory was supposed to be the entire main plot of this, before I realized I want Sharon to divorce just as much as I want her to share more things about herself with Rusty! Don't we all want that? **

**Thank you for reading!**


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